


Becoming of Us

by sebooty



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, but that's to be expected in this forsaken fandom, how do write yuri?, lol shit was awks af, slight angst, terrible ending is terrible, they do the bang bang frick frack and sasha eats that pussy like a potato snack, this is completely for my own interests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7927828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebooty/pseuds/sebooty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stupid, simple bet goes awry and Sasha enjoys the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming of Us

'Whichever teams takes down the most targets gets to relax while the losing team makes dinner for the whole squad.'

'Deal.'

...

It was against her better judgement, Sasha thinks as she leans against the worktop and stares at Mikasa from across the small kitchen, to accept that bet. Mikasa's face conveys nothing readable but her posture gives away the irritation she's reigning in, and Sasha wonders if the chance to piss all over Jean and Eren's egos was very worth the wrath she's wrought in volunteering Eren's sister as her challenge partner. 

Indigo eyes sweep over her with quiet annoyance in Mikasa's perusal of the kitchen wares scattered out along the bench. She swallows. “I'm sorry. I really thought –“

Mikasa cuts her off by holding up a hand and striding towards her with soft footfalls that don't match the tangible haze of anger still rolling off of her. “Let's just get started,” she says coolly and brushes past. 

Sasha watches meekly as she shrugs out of her jacket and hangs it on an empty hook anchored in the wall, nimble hands reaching up to unlace the scarf hanging at her throat. It's an odd sight, seeing Mikasa without the stark contrast of crimson against the ink of her hair, but Sasha quickly puts that thought aside to ponder about in the small hours of the night when the other girls are sleeping deeply and mimics her actions before turning towards the pantry. 

Tension hangs in the air, wafting overhead in wispy tendrils that has Sasha biting deep into her lip to keep from making any half-ass comments in the hopes of subduing the static – it'll only make the situation that much more uncomfortable and embarrassing. Instead, she focuses on washing the potatoes in front of her and revelling in the familiar feeling of her hands being dirtied by food and cooking. It's a welcome change to using them to wield weapons and cutting down monsters. Behind her Mikasa is silently stoking a fire to life beneath the heavy pot they'd thankfully found in a cupboard and filled with water and broth. 

Slowly as the two of them steadily work in a unit to create the dinner they'd been conned into crafting, the cloud of anxiety lifts and Sasha can finally breathe evenly again. She's pretty surprised to find that Mikasa isn't completely lacking in culinary skills – though Sasha's still better – and feels bold enough to ask her about it but when she sees Mikasa falter and close her eyes momentarily before clearing her throat and returning to chopping carrots without so much as an attempt at answering, she mentally slaps herself and pushes away the guilt she doesn't fully understand. 

There's a lot she doesn't know about the other girl. A lot she fears she doesn't want to know. 

Except, she really kind of does. Every time Mikasa's around, Sasha has more and more questions for her and hardly ever finds out more than yet another thing to add to the list of things that either piss the girl off or aggravates her already sullen moods. Still, the curiosity and need to know Mikasa Ackerman and all that makes her tick sticks to Sasha like a pin. 

The only sounds to be heard for the next half hour are those of a knife slicing through what little greens they have, the crackling of fire in the hearth, and the bubbling of water boiling over. Sasha isn't sure if she's thankful for the peace or not, but she still feels that same mixture of embarrassment and guilt for involving Mikasa in this mess and is at a loss as to what to say. 

It all comes down to an irritating run of rotten luck that seems to have been a personal plague all her life. Such as the wires of Sasha's 3DMG crossing Connie's and tangling them together into an awkward ornament of twisted limbs and muffled swears. Cutting them loose blunted her last set of blades and though Mikasa's skill and reliably quick manoeuvring more than made up for the lag, the remaining blows Sasha delivered to the wooden 'Titans' weren't deep enough to qualify thanks to her dull knives. The loss hadn't set in until Sasha saw the smug smiles on both Jean and Eren's faces and the reserved frustration on Mikasa's. 

As Sasha starts tossing the potatoes, carrots, and rice into the pot Mikasa busies herself with rubbing a blend of herbs into what small bit of meat they were allowed and cubing it, searing it in a flat pan over the fire before adding it to the stew. Sasha doesn't register that she's openly staring, studying Mikasa's profile as she stirs the pot, until she's swimming in a vivid blue-violet gaze. Her breath stalls as the other nears, hand stretching out to wipe at something along Sasha's brow and her face floods with heat. 

“There was a bit of potato stuck to you,” Mikasa informs, opening her palm to reveal a small shaving of potato skin. In the corner of her mouth Sasha spies a small curve that's soft and subtle and her eyes have become almost fond as they bore into the whisky pools of Sasha's own, any previous frustration nowhere to be found. 

Neither of them speak any further – Sasha being too stunned and scared to break whatever trance they were caught in as they just looked at each other, her senses overloading with the sudden lack of space between them – but this time the static is replaced with an electric like current that's doing nothing for the blush still marring Sasha's face. Mikasa's eyeing her almost invasively and Sasha itches to know what's going on in the steel trap of her mind, aches to ask her something, anything, but stays silent and counts backward from ten in the vain hope that she'll calm down. 

The spell is shattered with the crashing sound of Jean and Eren barging into the room, asking after their prized meal. Sasha stumbles back and away from Mikasa, struggling to get a handle on the pounding in her chest, and swats at Eren's hand as he reaches for the lid of the pot. 

…

The dinner goes over well and the squad thanks both her and Mikasa for the treat, too absorbed in their meal to either notice or ask about Sasha's sudden and unheard of lack of appetite. It's a small mercy that she clings to, quickly excusing herself to her assigned room. 

In the dark cover of a rare moment of privacy, Sasha releases a shaky breath and collapses against the door as she surrenders to the torrent of confusion and attraction pulsing through her with every thump of her heart. Her eyes slip closed and behind her eyelids she's burning in the memory of Mikasa's eyes trained so intently on her, stripping her down. 

She must fall asleep like that because the next thing Sasha's aware of is the door pressing hard into her hip and then the feeling of gentle but strong hands sliding beneath her prone frame and lifting. Through the fog of her sleepy mind she realises she's being carried and in seconds the comfort of her bed is beneath her, lulling her further into a fitful slumber. 

Before she's too far adrift, Sasha swears she feels the velvet press of lips just above her ear. 

…

The next couple of days fly past her in a blur of sideways glances between her stoic-as-ever roommate that result in furious blushing on Sasha's part, listening to Eren and Jean boast about their victory over the girls, training under Captain Levi's strict rule, and falling asleep with a racing pulse and a confused heart. Mikasa's been quiet – though, to be fair, she isn't known for meaningless conversation about the weather or the grim outlook of their future like so many others of their small squad so Sasha really has nothing to base her insecurity on – but she's taken to sitting as close to Sasha as she can without raising too many questions and occasionally crawling into her bed in the middle of the night. 

On the first morning Sasha wakes to find a warmth nestled into her side and iron arms curled around her waist she can't help but feel at ease with the world for the first time in five long years. She takes it in stride and simply pushes closer, runs her hand through black strands of hair that slip through her fingers like the finest spun silk. When Mikasa stirs and peers up at her with wide eyes, Sasha identifies the vulnerability in those expressive depths and tightens her hold on Mikasa's shoulder momentarily in a makeshift embrace. 

The air around them is filled with a silent understanding and yearning that, until then, had previously gone ignored. Each quickly dresses, Mikasa pausing in her own routine to help Sasha make sense of the belts and straps of her harness which she had haphazardly discarded the night before and were now a tangled mess, and they make their way to the dining room together. 

The routine falls into place as simply as if it had always existed and with every night that Mikasa slots against her, Sasha is sure she falls faster and harder. 

…

Every repressed feeling and boxed in thought finally comes to a head after Sasha almost hits Mikasa with an arrow during their rescue of Jean and Armin from Reeve's Warehouse. 

Anguish and guilt surge strong and hot within Sasha, blooming along her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose in scarlet blotches and streaming down her face in thick wet drops. She's not a worthy soldier, not if she can't focus enough to ensure she isn't a threat to her fellow squad members, and this only solidifies that fact. It's not the first time she's messed up on a mission and, hell, it isn't even the first time Mikasa's taken the brunt of her screwing up, but this somehow feels sharper than her other moments of weakness and pierces through her painfully. 

When Mikasa returns to their room, Sasha's face is buried into her arm and pillow, still heaving with sobs that are violent enough to make her shake. “Sasha,” she breathes as she toes the door shut and steps forward. “You did well.”

Something snaps in Sasha at those words and she's lifting her head to glare at Mikasa in angry disbelief. “How can you say that?” she accuses, mopping up her tears with the sleeve of her jacket. “I almost killed you, Mikasa. Me, not a Titan. I messed up again and it nearly cost your life. Don't stand there and tell me I did well, not when I could've –“ Sasha's voice cracks and she's rendered speechless as a new wave of shame and guilt crowds against her. Vision blurring once more with tears, she fails to see Mikasa cross the distance of the room and starts when warm hands clasp around her wrists, gently tugging her hands from face. 

Mikasa's eyes find hers in the dark as she brings one of Sasha's hands to her chest. “Feel that? It's still beating and I'm still alive. I'm here with you.” Her voice is barely audible against the dull roar of their noisy squad mates coming from the other side of the door, but Sasha doesn't need to hear them to know what she's saying. Mikasa's close enough that she can feel her breath caressing the side of her face, can make out the words with ease. 

Sasha's eyes fall to where Mikasa has pressed their hands together just under her scarf, the rhythmic patter of her heart humming against the flat of Sasha's palm. Staring in wonder and relief, Sasha manages a watery smile and a weak laugh before she's sliding her hand up and locking her arms in place around Mikasa's neck to tug her forward. “You're here with me,” she echoes all the while clinging to the other girl and smiling wider as Mikasa's arms sneak around her waist to hold her as equally tight.

Whether the embrace last seconds or minutes until Sasha shifts just enough to seal her mouth to Mikasa's, Sasha doesn't know or care. The only thing that matters in this stolen moment is the feel of Mikasa, warm and alive against her and returning her kiss with a fervour Sasha didn't expect. 

The air is suddenly thick again, and heady, the electric current that Sasha felt in the kitchen weeks ago surging between them once more, serving to make their movements quick and clumsy as each girl pulls at buckles and buttons. Once free of their clothing, Sasha pulls Mikasa down to the bed with her, their legs weaving together and their kisses becoming harsh and messy, full of inexperience and wonder.

It should be overwhelming and unknown, and most of it is – the slide of Mikasa's tongue against her own, the taste of her – but Sasha's become so familiar with the weight of Mikasa from their nights sharing a bed that she feels as though she knows it like her was her own. Her confidence is building with that small comfort, spurring Sasha to run her hands along the length of Mikasa's ribs and over her hips; one trailing back up to fist her short hair, the other thumbing the jut of her hipbone. 

Mikasa pulls out of the kiss and her mouth lines the column of Sasha's neck to taste her skin and leave it reddened and angry, visible even in the dark. Teeth bear down at the hollow of her throat and Sasha's answering moan of approval would be embarrassing if she didn't feel those devious lips quirk upward in a triumphant smile. Not one to be outdone, Sasha uses her hands as leverage and rolls Mikasa to her back and dips down to trace the hardened planes of defined abdominals with her tongue. 

She licks wet stripes from Mikasa's hip to the underside of her left breast, breath ghosting over her nipple to tease it into a sensitive peak. Mikasa whines gorgeously, fingers twisting in auburn hair and Sasha's just sure she's lost a few strands, Mikasa grips it so tight in her attempts to redirect her mouth to where she wants it. She takes the hint and flicks her tongue experimentally over her nipple and presses in for an open-mouthed kiss.“Sasha.” Heat blossoms in the nooks of her spine, alighting each individual vertebra as it spreads lower and pooling at the juncture of her thighs to make her very aware of just how much she's enjoying this with a throb. 

The exotic scent of blackcurrant stains Mikasa's skin, sensual and spicy and drawing Sasha further into her thrall. It's so entirely Mikasa and perfect, divine and mouthwatering as it tinders the heat between them, fanning it into a roaring inferno of desire and lust. 

Sasha pulls back, hovering above the woman beneath her and staring openly at her bare body. She's all hard angles and soft skin, muscle roped tightly around her joints and granting her a physique that would make other girls wet with jealousy. Her breasts aren't much in size – mere palmfuls – but Sasha thinks they're more than enough, tweaking the nipple of the left in a balance of ministrations while leaning in to suckle the right again.

Her heart is singing beyond her ribs, pattering against them as a prisoner would rattle the bars of their cage, aching with the sight of such beauty. And it's all hers. It clicks into place then, there in the dark of their shared room; this is love. The current existing between them is love. That need to be close and express a soft and up to now silent intimacy away from the prying eyes of their fellow soldiers and friends, the gut-wrenching terror of having almost lost Mikasa to her own hand and brashness. Sasha sighs with the weight of the epiphany, unwilling to say the words for fear of scaring the other away; she knows Mikasa's not quite as tolerant and understanding of emotional outbursts, not even aware of herself enough to identify some of the irrational actions and behaviour she has taken under the manipulation of feeling too much at once. Still, she ponders, perhaps the word hangs between them unspoken and known all the same, waiting patiently to be heard when they are both ready. 

A soft hand on her face, cupping her cheek and wiping at tears she hadn't realised were there, pulls Sasha from her errant philosophy of love and back to the present, back to Mikasa and the long night ahead. The hand slides down, down, down to the small of Sasha's back, pressing and pulling her forward until she's flat against Mikasa once more, chest to chest and sex to sex. Their breaths mingle while their mouths clumsily seek, kissing cheeks and noses and chins before their lips are again locked. 

If their first kiss was heat and passion, relief flooding between them at still being alive and having the chance for this and what Sasha hopes will be more, then this kiss is sentiment and caring. It's soft and sweet, full of potential and promise as each take their time in exploring the depth and taste of the other, their hands mapping the imperfections of each other's bodies and trailing the raised lines of skin where their harnesses have chafed and made blemishes. 

Their position shifts again, Sasha tugging Mikasa forward and toward the end of the bed as she experimentally bites into her lip and soothes the sting with a languid lick. When Sasha backs away, peppering kisses from her lips to her jaw, down the eloquent slope of her neck, across her shoulder and collar, and down between the valley of Mikasa's breasts, indigo eyes alight with a spark that brings the pulsing throb between Sasha's legs to the forefront of her mind. Dismissing it, she decides to take her time in losing herself to Mikasa and dips her tongue into her bellybutton, laughing through her nose at the way Mikasa's stomach and abs roll, her hips bucking forward shamelessly. 

“Don't tease,” she whispers because Mikasa definitely doesn't pout. (She does).

Sasha very much wants to test her limits and see how far she can push Mikasa without actually doing anything to her or for her, hear that wrecked tone illuminate her normally passive voice as she begs for more, for anything that will appease the ache. But she doesn't, her own impatience besting her. 

Her kisses continue, slipping past Mikasa's belly and down to the apex of her thighs where Sasha can already feel the heat burning through her veins coalescing, can smell the musk of arousal wafting off her and casting a spell on Sasha's senses, pushing her into sensory overload. They're both too needy and desperate for the slow burn Sasha had initially planned and thought she wanted, and that's just fine with her. She never actually was a person with tremendous self control anyway. 

With one last lingering kiss pressed into the juncture of thigh and pelvic bone, Sasha sets her sights on the treasure that awaits her, tentatively flicking her tongue against Mikasa's clit. The gasp and hum, the hissed out 'yes' that fills the silence is intoxicating, emboldening. She licks harder, moving slightly to tease a trail down the slit of Mikasa's womanhood, lips finding purchase and sucking at her pearl. Mikasa moans, the sound beautiful and guttural. Sasha shifts and pulls Mikasa's legs to her shoulders, her fingers light and airy as they move along and up her toned thighs towards her wet heat. One more swirl and glide of Sasha's tongue along her seam before she tentatively thrusts a finger in, amazed at the slick warmth of Mikasa's arousal; the effect she has had on such a seemingly unattainable woman.

The mewl Mikasa gives cry to has Sasha looking up, peering up at her from her position on the floor and their eyes meet. Steel grey-violet almost completely shrouded by her blown pupils and her mouth hanging open, a rhapsody of pleasured music casting out into the air around them. She is utterly gorgeous, breath-taking in a way Sasha knows she will never forget for however long she survives this terrible war. 

Sasha adds a second finger in her assault on Mikasa's sex, watching with ill-contained rapture as she reacts; back arching away from the bed and hips undulating, pushing down on Sasha's hand to take her fingers deeper. Mikasa drops from her raised position on her elbows, entangling one hand in Sasha's hair to pull her mouth closer, firmer against her clit. Sasha does as directed, lapping languorously then applying pressure with the tip of her tongue, revelling in every sound elicited from the beauty spread out on her bed. 

Her fingers work over Mikasa quickly, rhythmic and deliberate with ever push and pull. Curling them upwards just so, Sasha hears a high-pitched wail of absolute ecstasy as Mikasa tightens around her. Her own pussy is throbbing in tandem to the slide of her digits, thick beads of pearl dripping down her innermost top of her thigh as she rubs her legs together in a desperate need of friction. Absently, she wonders if she'd going to come like this, completely untouched and pushed to her climax from the sheer sound of Mikasa, from the exquisite taste of her in her mouth. 

Sasha's mouth delves lower, pulling her fingers free and replacing them with her tongue. Mikasa's thighs tremble and quiver around her, the hand in her hair tightening to a near painful pull as Sasha brings her closer to closer to her peak. Using her thumb, Sasha circles Mikasa's clit, pressing down and delighting in the high-pitched whine from Mikasa. She's close, Sasha can tell, her walls tightening and heat pulsing. Sasha hums low in her throat, sending the vibrations ricocheting through Mikasa and pushing her past the peak, into a crescendo of overwhelming sensation and pleasure. 

Slowly, Sasha brings her down and back with soft and sensual stroking of her tongue as she drinks in all that Mikasa offers. Sasha lowers Mikasa's legs back down to the floor, standing and stretching her aching body all the while keeping her eyes trained solely on Mikasa's face, flushed and relaxed with her post-orgasm haze. Her eyes are closed, eyelids fluttering with the rapid movement beneath as Mikasa struggles to catch her breath, small pants heaving raggedly from her open mouth. 

Sasha thinks she's captivating, much moreso than she has ever been. 

She crawls onto the bed beside Mikasa, throwing an arm around her waist and shuffling them both beneath the bedcovers, pulling her close as exhaustion swims through her veins and weighs her eyelids. Mikasa turns to her sharply, eyes guilty. “You didn't get to –“ Sasha cuts her sentence short with a quick peck to her lips. 

“Tomorrow,” she whispers, uncaring about the reciprocation or lack of sexual satisfaction on her end, wholly content with being the one and only person responsible for Mikasa's lack of absolute self control. 

Mikasa smiles, just a small upturn of both the corners of her mouth; subtle yet smouldering, and settles herself more comfortably in Sasha's arms. Indeed, she would pay Sasha back in full tomorrow.


End file.
